


Brain Soup

by JellyLollie



Series: Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Humor, One Shot, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyLollie/pseuds/JellyLollie
Summary: Jack's an unemployed writer having the time of his life. It's about time somebody brings him home. Prequel-ish to Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover.
Series: Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737418
Kudos: 2





	Brain Soup

Pain.

That's the first thing my poor disoriented self registers. It feels like my brain has melted and there’s a tiny chef stirring all that grey goop inside my skull, and let me tell you right off the bat: It’s not a very pleasant sensation. Trying to breathe alone sends jolts of pain through every single one of my nerve endings, and I ask myself if going out last night was really worth this living hell. 

Nah, who am I kidding? Last night was a blast. Drinks are always fun, double the fun when you have the right company. What was her name again? Cindy? Cynthia? Sorry, it’s hard to keep up with details when your head is suddenly turned into a steaming pot of disgusting soup. Ew.

… Where was I? Right. Last night. 

Listen, I’m a man of simple taste. Find me someone who’s good at laughing, hit me up with some carbs, keep the scotch coming, and you’ll have a happy man. What can I say? I’m easily satisfied, and I’m down for anything if it means getting me out of my boredom. Lucky for me, this city still has many fine liquor establishments I haven’t ventured through yet, and I can hear them chanting my name at night. And what kind of sensible adult would I be if I didn’t heed their wishes? Maybe it’s a good thing that I never considered myself the sensible type… nor the adult type, for that matter. Life’s too short to be trapped in monotony.

I try to roll onto my back as slowly as my beat-up muscles allow me to move, but that immediately turns out to be a mistake. As soon as I move, there are vine-like arms wrapping around my torso and keeping me in place like I’m a motherfucking human-sized pillow. Oh, great. Looks like Cindy is a spooner.

Now that my body had some time to adjust, I can make some sense of my surroundings. White walls. Clean sheets. A hint of lavender in the air that makes me gag… How did I not realize sooner that this was not my crappy hotel room? Oh, yeah. The brain soup.

So apparently, someone got lucky last night. Hurray. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Sandra and I had a great time. I mean, look at her: blonde, blue eyes, breast soft like a pike of fresh snow and legs for days. Beauty-wise, she could be a supermodel any day. But God, how vanilla she was! If Vanilla was a person, it would be our dear Cynthia here. Meet Cynthia: plain, boring, sweet and sticky vanilla.

Under normal circumstances, I would definitely not have spent the night. I can be an idiot who’s bad at learning from previous mistakes, but even I would know not to spend the night with Vanilla Cindy. A Quickie? Sure. Maybe even seconds if I was in the mood. But no spending the night. Never spending the night. You should know better than that, Jack.

Fuck you, Little Chef, knocking me out just so you can work on your stupid specialty soup. I thought we were friends but looks like I was wrong. Thanks to you, I now have a naked woman spooning me in her sleep. And let me make this one thing clear for you: no woman is worth the hassle. And definitely no vanilla woman, no matter how hot she is. 

Now, I’m not calling myself a prude. Your boy has been places, trust me. Waking up beside a human whose name I barely remember? Just an ordinary Wednesday. When you’re too busy having fun, it’s hard to tell your body to stop having fun. One thing leads to another, and taking a nap right there is just easier than getting up and leaving. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with that, and when I play my cards right, breakfast comes in more ways than one. What is not okay is Mademoiselle Cuddles hugging me like we’re meant to be. Jesus Christ, this poor girl is in for a rough ride...

Okay, a quick pause for one of Uncle Jack’s life lessons, boys and girls: you don’t cuddle with a man you met the night before. Cuddling is for couples pretending to be so desperately in love that they can’t keep their hands off of each other. It is not, and I repeat, it is NOT included in the ‘You got laid last night and the other person accidentally fell asleep on your bed’ package. Especially when your partner could’ve been any other random person roaming around the same bar as you.

Listen, Cindy, let’s be real here. I have no idea what made you let me in your apartment last night, much less in your vagina. Maybe I underestimated my own charm, and if that’s the case, I should probably apologize. But you can’t expect your one night stand to be the knight in shining armor you’ve been daydreaming about since you were twelve. The world doesn’t work like that, and if you don’t toughen up, jerks will rip your heart out and do whatever the hell they want with it. Jerks much like the one you’re cuddling so peacefully right now, I must add.

Tiny Chef takes a break from his soup-making activities, and I decide that it’s time I get my ass out of that fucking place. I go around the room scavenging for my clothes, and Cindy finally stirs awake.

“What are you doing?” she asks, wrapping the sheets around her upper body. Her English has a heavy accent that in other circumstances would be a heavy turn on.

“Getting dressed. Don't mind me and go back to sleep, sweet cheeks."

"Let me go prepare us some breakfast then—”

I cur her off while I struggle with my shoes, “Don’t worry about it. I’m heading out.”

Cindy remains silent, and I think I embarrassed her. She puts on a robe and follows me through the apartment, probably out of pure courtesy.

“Thanks for the fun,” I say as I lean against the front door’s frame.

One wink sends her blushing a deep shade of crimson, and I’m out of there before she can get any wrong ideas and comes asking for things I can’t really give her. God fucking dammit, idiot, stop thinking with your other head!

On the way back to the hotel, I get a cheap coffee from a street vendor, and it tastes like old gym socks. The undertones of armpit and moldy cheese are not ideal, but it’s still caffeine, and I’ll let a street cat eat one of my ballsacks before I waste any of it. Besides, it's probably not the coffee's fault. Whatever concoction the Tiny Chef was working on probably fucked up my taste buds as well.

Around me, the city is already in full swing. There’s the clickety-clack of a construction site nearby, grumpy suits pass by me on their way to work, mustached waiters line tables on the streets, tourists take selfies with their overpriced croissants… Oh, Paris, home of some of the greatest cultural legacies of our age. Also home of some of the most stuck up assholes in the world. What a beautifully depressing little city.

Back in the hotel, the receptionist calls me.

"A gentleman has been waiting to talk to you," the guy says in French.

Well, that's odd. I didn’t really make my accommodations public information, so I can't think of a single person in the entire country who would ambush me in my hotel.

"Who?"

"Me," a deep voice says from behind me, and I can't help but hiss.

I turn on my heels to glare at him, and it's kind of annoying that I still have to raise my head to look him in the eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He narrows his eyes. He still doesn’t seem to commend my cursing, and my word choices may have pissed him off. Hey, just like old times, right? 

"Is that any way to talk to your uncle—" 

Before he's finished, I'm already heading for the stairs. It shouldn't be a surprise that he follows me.

"I would like you to come home with me," he says, and I have to roll my eyes.

"I'm on vacation, North. How did you find me anyway—" As the words leave my mouth, my beautiful soup of a brain comes up with the answer to my question on its own. "Don't tell me. Hiccup."

"He's worried about you. As am I."

"You both need hobbies."

"Where were you? I've been waiting for you all night."

"Are you sure you wanna know?" I ask with a smirk.

The poor guy had to live with me for years, he knows I ain't no saint.

North sighs. "Never mind."

I get to my room, and because slamming the door on his face would grant me at least three hours of lecture about proper manners befitting a young man like me, I let the big man in. I fall on the bed and bury my face in the dusty pillows in hopes that North will take the hint and leave me alone. He doesn't.

"I have two plane tickets back to New Burgess leaving this afternoon," he says.

"Good for you," I mumble with my face still glued to the pillow.

"You are coming with me."

I lift my upper body off the mattress so I can give him my best glare. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm on vacation."

North laughs, throwing his head back. "You call this a vacation? Please. You're living in a rickety hotel room that looks like a murder location straight out of a cheap thriller novel. You're unemployed, you have no money, and you haven't contacted me nor your friends in months."

"I have money. From my last book."

"Need I remind you that I still receive all of your mail in my house? You're in the red, Jack."

Okay, I may have blown my budget a little bit, but that was a completely unavoidable outcome. I still have bodily necessities to tend to, and buying drinks for the ladies can get pricey sometimes...

North walks to my side and puts a hand on my shoulder. "What are you running from, son?"

Jesus, the nerve of that guy. Thinking he can parent me like I’m five. Well, I’ve got news for you, North: I’m not a kid anymore!

"Who said I’m running from anything?” I shove his hand away. "Since when is it illegal to have some fun, huh?"

He keeps looking at me, and I don’t need to be a genius to read the melancholy in his eyes. North is disappointed in me. And even if I'm a self-centered asshole, that kinda stings. 

Oh, look: it's my old friend Morality. Where have you been, buddy? Can't say that I missed you. Do you mind coming back later? Tiny Chef is still working, and I can only deal with one visitor at a time.

"Very well," North says, taking a step back. He pulls out a yellow envelope and put it on the nightstand. "The plane leaves at six. You can either stay here, poisoning yourself to death in this vacation of yours, or you can come home with me, to people who truly care about you, Jack. No matter what you decide to do, know that I love you, son. And I will always be here if you need me.”

After all that mushy talk, North leaves, and fuck that son of a bitch. To think that he flew all the way to this decadent city just for a pep talk. Somebody sure has a lot of free time on his hands, doesn't he?

That stupid yellow envelope on the nightstand keeps mocking me. Screw you and your messed up mind games, North. You say it’s my choice, but after that stupid heartfelt speech of yours, there’s only one option left for me to take.

Great. Now I have to pack.

With a groan, I let myself fall on the mattress again. I can’t wait to hop on a plane with my stupid melted brain. I bet that will be fucking awesome. The best way to return home, really. I mean, what else could I ask for?  


_ Beware, New Burgess. Jack Frost is coming back. _

**Author's Note:**

> Check [my Tumblr](https://jellylollie.tumblr.com/) for fandom shenanigans. I sometimes write outtakes. And I draw. And that's the best place to check if I'm still alive or not...


End file.
